hall. He was patting her cheeks with his fat baby hands, and when he poked a finger in her mouth, she pretended to bite it.
Luther squealed.
Dori laughed.
Their nightly ritual continued.
The rainstorm had moved on and the house was quiet by the time Dori crawled in bed. Meeker was snoring in his bedroom down the hall, and she could hear Luther in his crib on the other side of the room, sucking his thumb. She sighed, glad the day was over, but the moment she relaxed, she thought of what had happened to Johnny Pine’s little brother and then of Johnny, imagining how afraid she would have been if it had been Luther who’d been hurt today. In an odd way, they were both in the same boat: teenagers raising kids. The only difference was that she had her grandfather. Johnny didn’t have anyone. She wondered who he talked to when he got scared, and then she rolled over and closed her eyes.
* * *
Johnny got a text from his boss sometime during the night, telling him to take the day off, since it was too wet to run a dozer, to take care of Beep, and to just ignore what people are saying.
Johnny’s stomach rolled, wondering what kind of uproar the incident had started. From what his boss said, it sounded like people were mad at them, which figured, even though Beep was the victim.
He shoved a hand through his hair and got up to go check on the boys. They were still asleep, so he started coffee and then went to take a shower and get dressed. If shit was going to hit the fan, he didn’t intend to face it butt naked.
He showered quickly, then wrapped a towel around his waist and squirted some shaving cream in his hand. He couldn’t remember ever seeing his daddy clean shaven or dressed up, and his need to be a polar opposite was ingrained. All three of the boys had their daddy’s black hair, which marked them yet again as “one of those Pines,” but they didn’t have to mirror his ways.
As soon as he’d finished shaving, he got dressed and went to the kitchen for coffee. His brain didn’t kick into full gear until that first swallow of the dark brew slid down his throat.
He was debating what to make for breakfast that Beep could swallow comfortably and decided on oatmeal, which was their old standby, so he measured out the right amounts of oats and water, added a pinch of salt, turned on the heat, and as soon as it got hot, he began to stir.
He heard a door open and knew one or both of the boys were awake. A few moments later, Marshall appeared in the doorway.
“Beep’s nose is bleeding,” he announced.
“On the way,” Johnny said, turning off the fire and putting a lid on the oatmeal. It could finish cooking by itself or he’d put it back on the heat later.
He could hear Beep crying even before he reached the room, and his heart sank. For the first time since their mother’s death, he felt her absence in a way he would never have imagined. Beep needed cuddling, and Johnny had never been a cuddler for either of the boys. He teased them. He corrected them. He fed them and loved them, and they knew he loved them, but now there was a need for more—and he felt horribly inadequate for the job.
He stopped in the bathroom on the way and grabbed a wet washcloth and a hand towel and then crossed the hall into their room.
Beep was sitting up in bed sobbing. His hair was standing on end and his eyes were so swollen he could barely see. A thin trickle of blood was seeping out of one nostril and his pillow was spotted with more of the same.
At that moment, Johnny hated those boys with every ounce of his being. He slid onto the mattress beside Beep and held out his arms. Beep crawled into his lap and went limp against Johnny’s chest as he continued to cry.
Johnny suspected he was not only in pain but also overwhelmed by the memory of yesterday’s horror and afraid of a repeat once he was back in school. He held him close as he wiped tears and blood off his little brother’s face, talking softly.
“This isn’t
Luther squealed.
Dori laughed.
Their nightly ritual continued.
The rainstorm had moved on and the house was quiet by the time Dori crawled in bed. Meeker was snoring in his bedroom down the hall, and she could hear Luther in his crib on the other side of the room, sucking his thumb. She sighed, glad the day was over, but the moment she relaxed, she thought of what had happened to Johnny Pine’s little brother and then of Johnny, imagining how afraid she would have been if it had been Luther who’d been hurt today. In an odd way, they were both in the same boat: teenagers raising kids. The only difference was that she had her grandfather. Johnny didn’t have anyone. She wondered who he talked to when he got scared, and then she rolled over and closed her eyes.
* * *
Johnny got a text from his boss sometime during the night, telling him to take the day off, since it was too wet to run a dozer, to take care of Beep, and to just ignore what people are saying.
Johnny’s stomach rolled, wondering what kind of uproar the incident had started. From what his boss said, it sounded like people were mad at them, which figured, even though Beep was the victim.
He shoved a hand through his hair and got up to go check on the boys. They were still asleep, so he started coffee and then went to take a shower and get dressed. If shit was going to hit the fan, he didn’t intend to face it butt naked.
He showered quickly, then wrapped a towel around his waist and squirted some shaving cream in his hand. He couldn’t remember ever seeing his daddy clean shaven or dressed up, and his need to be a polar opposite was ingrained. All three of the boys had their daddy’s black hair, which marked them yet again as “one of those Pines,” but they didn’t have to mirror his ways.
As soon as he’d finished shaving, he got dressed and went to the kitchen for coffee. His brain didn’t kick into full gear until that first swallow of the dark brew slid down his throat.
He was debating what to make for breakfast that Beep could swallow comfortably and decided on oatmeal, which was their old standby, so he measured out the right amounts of oats and water, added a pinch of salt, turned on the heat, and as soon as it got hot, he began to stir.
He heard a door open and knew one or both of the boys were awake. A few moments later, Marshall appeared in the doorway.
“Beep’s nose is bleeding,” he announced.
“On the way,” Johnny said, turning off the fire and putting a lid on the oatmeal. It could finish cooking by itself or he’d put it back on the heat later.
He could hear Beep crying even before he reached the room, and his heart sank. For the first time since their mother’s death, he felt her absence in a way he would never have imagined. Beep needed cuddling, and Johnny had never been a cuddler for either of the boys. He teased them. He corrected them. He fed them and loved them, and they knew he loved them, but now there was a need for more—and he felt horribly inadequate for the job.
He stopped in the bathroom on the way and grabbed a wet washcloth and a hand towel and then crossed the hall into their room.
Beep was sitting up in bed sobbing. His hair was standing on end and his eyes were so swollen he could barely see. A thin trickle of blood was seeping out of one nostril and his pillow was spotted with more of the same.
At that moment, Johnny hated those boys with every ounce of his being. He slid onto the mattress beside Beep and held out his arms. Beep crawled into his lap and went limp against Johnny’s chest as he continued to cry.
Johnny suspected he was not only in pain but also overwhelmed by the memory of yesterday’s horror and afraid of a repeat once he was back in school. He held him close as he wiped tears and blood off his little brother’s face, talking softly.
“This isn’t
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